Venice Vampyr (Venice Vampyr #1)

Massimo turned back to him and Isabella, his eyes were full of hatred. “You scheming, no-good—”
    Raphael snatched the man’s throat so quickly he had no time to react. He ignored the stares of the people around him. “Say the word, and I will call you for a duel. Just to warn you, I’m an expert in any weapon you might choose. So I would tread carefully now when you speak about my wife.”
    He sensed a tightening of his jaw, evidence that his fangs itched to descend, ready to attack. Quickly, he dropped his grip and turned away from Massimo. He couldn’t risk public exposure.
    “Isabella, would you like to dance?” Not waiting for her answer, Raphael pulled her into his arms and twirled them onto the dance floor. Her body pressing against him soothed his anger. He’d been close to killing her cousin right there in full view of everybody. It wouldn’t do. The man would die, soon, and without any witnesses.
     



Chapter Eleven
     
    Isabella waited for Raphael to retrieve their cloaks and accepted another couple’s well-wishes. After a few dances with her new husband, during which he’d plied her ears with scandalous words not suitable to be repeated anywhere, he’d finally declared that they’d spent sufficient time at the ball and could return home.
    She was relieved. Despite the fact that the Doge had declared their marriage legitimate, she didn’t like the stares people gave her. Was it her gown, or was it her husband they looked at? Or maybe it was the fact that she felt flushed, not by the warmth in the large hall, but by the words Raphael had whispered to her on a continuous basis. And by his hard length, which she’d felt while dancing with him.
    She shivered when she felt Raphael’s hands on her shoulders, spreading her cloak over her, then tying it at her throat.
    “You were the most beautiful woman at the ball.” His breath caressed her neck, and she tilted it slightly, offering it to him. He pressed a soft kiss against her skin, and she felt her blood warm. A moment later, he turned her to face him.
    “Here, put this on.”
    She looked down at his hands and took a mask from him. “Why do you want me to wear a mask?”
    “I’ll explain later.”
    He put his own half-mask on and helped her tie hers. It hid most of her face, but her mouth remained free and unimpeded. When she turned and looked into the full-length mirror in the hallway, all she saw was a stranger in a long red dress covered by a black cloak. The black mask made her face unrecognizable.
    “Come,” Raphael urged her and led her into the night.
    The streets were teeming with revelers, many wearing masks, some elaborate, others as simple as her own. Everybody was the same. Class was forgotten. It was how it was meant to be. During carnival, a pauper could be a prince. A noble could be a pirate. A whore could be a lady.
    Isabella looked with wonder at the different people and masks as Raphael led her through the busy alleys around Piazza San Marco. The further they walked, the quieter the streets became. She barely noticed how far they’d gone because she was so fascinated with the activities in the streets.
    She was surprised when Raphael suddenly stopped under an arched walkway and pressed her back to a wall behind her, his body flush against hers. “And now, my sweet wife, it’s time to consummate our marriage. I think I’ve waited long enough.” The predatory glint in his eyes was unmistakable.
    Isabella gasped in shock. “Here?”
    His lips ghosted over her skin, his breath caressing her as he answered. “Yes, my beautiful angel, right here. That’s why we’re wearing masks. I’ll ravish you here, where any passerby might see us. Yet, they won’t know who we are. All they’ll think is that a man is fucking a whore, and they won’t care. Maybe they’ll simply watch.”
    She tried to push him away, and with him her own scandalous desire to do just what he was suggesting. Her body already responded to his salacious words, her sex clenching in anticipation of his body claiming her. And the thought that somebody could see them sent a hot flame through her core. No, she couldn’t allow this to happen.
    Raphael encircled her wrists and held them to the wall, then dipped his head to where her bosom heaved. He licked his tongue over her twin swells in a low and sensual stroke and inhaled. “I can smell your arousal, my love.”
    Panic gripped her. If she allowed him to do this, he would realize that she was